Beautiful Disaster
by ramblelite
Summary: Something almost a charming and cunning as he is encourages Neal to enter a dangerous world where he can forget about everything painful. But this world has consequences. And Peter isn't about to let Neal fall again.
1. Chapter 1

The depression came quickly.

After Kate, the only thing Neal wanted was some peace and quiet, some way to quiet the thoughts that racked his mind at every moment. The reminder of what happened to her, the torture she must have went through in the moments before she died. How it was all his fault.

Neal climbed within himself. He spent more time alone, less time with his friends. He needed time with himself, he didn't need them. He didn't need anyone. He just needed to forget.

A sleeping pill here, a drink there. He was quickly falling into a routine of misery, a routine of self-loathing, the kind that could only be remedied by climbing within oneself and doing some serious soul-searching. But Neal just didn't have the energy.

Neal was tense, always anxious, always restless. He needed something, he needed to do something. Something, anything, to take his mind off of everything. A way out, a way in, a way back. Anything at all.

Neal was tired. He was tired of others getting hurt because of him.

Neal was depressed. He was going through a phase where all he could think about was how little he mattered. People, things, places. He had nothing to be proud of. He was 35 and alone.

Neal was close to the edge. The tension just built up inside of him, bubbling up, straining to be released. He was one step away from a total meltdown.

Peter noticed. He noticed Neal coming in with shadows under his eyes, his hair messy, his clothes barely hanging on to his thin frame. He noticed the mischievous light leaving Neal's eyes. His goofy jokes becoming more sparse. And he was worried.

So when Peter had told him about a high-stakes gambling ring underneath a local club, he asked for Neal to come with him. Maybe a good case would get him back to normal. That's when Neal met her. Hadley.

She was stunning, to say the least. Long, curly red hair that fell around her face just so. Perfect, green eyes that sat atop lovely cheekbones. Full lips. Neal's kind of woman. She worked there. "How can I help you, gentlemen?"

Peter flashed his badge. "Agent Burke, FBI. This is my consultant, Mr. Caffrey."

"Does Mr. Caffrey have a first name?" Neal tried to smile.

"Neal."

She ignored his comment, and turned around, walking them towards the back. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Caffrey."

He stopped, in stunned silence for a moment, and Peter glanced over at him, grinning. Someone immune to Neal's charms. Peter considered this a blessing. At first.

In the back, she sat atop the desk, her long legs folded in front of her.

"Why do you care what goes on in my basement?"

"We have reason to believe a suspect in our current case is a player at your games. We're not interested in you, we just want him."

She sighed, glancing away as she spoke. "Every time someone like you comes in here, I get reamed." She looked back at them. "I can't have you going in there. Bad for business."

"Strictly undercover operations. No one has to know."

"So why are you asking my permission?"

Peter hesitated. "We need you to shut down for a while. Give him an opportunity to find a new club, of our choosing. One we set up."

"Why can't you just catch him in our club?"

"Because then we'd have to take you down with him." Peter shrugged. "With your cooperation, we're turning a cheek. No cooperation, you're done."

"Except that's what you want anyway, for me to shut down for a time."

"Yes."

She groaned, letting a fist drop to a desk and tilting back her head for a moment. "There's no way around this, is there?"

Neal spoke up. "Not really."

She glanced at him. "Did I ask you?"

Neal shrugged. "It was implied."

"It wasn't."

Neal raised his eyebrows, then closed his mouth. He heard Peter scoff next to him. He didn't look over, but he wanted to deck him.

When they were done, and she had agreed, she stopped Neal before they left.

"Can I talk to this one alone?" Peter rolled his eyes and walked outside. "Stay. You look tense. Let me show you something."

Neal stopped, glancing out the window at Peter. "While I appreciate the offer, I do have work to do."

She handed him a card. "Then come back. Tonight. 10 PM. We'll have fun."

He looked down at it, unenthusiastic. "I'll see you at ten."

Once outside, Peter gave Neal the up-down. "What'd she want?"

"She wants me to come back tonight. I figure I'll check it out."

"It's barely within your radius."

"Then I guess I'm in the clear." Peter sighed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What's going on?!" Neal had to yell to be heard as the bass thumped and the crowd got louder. He had entered the club, looking around, before Hadley appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his hand.

"Come with me."

The back room was suddenly full. A group of people. Bongs, lines, pipes, pills, needles. A veritable potpourri of illegal substances, and a veritable potpourri of people taking them.

"What's going on with you?" she shouted over the music. Neal just stared at the scene before him, shaking his head.

"I need… I need to go." She grabbed his arm.

"Don't go. Stay." She slid down to his hand. "Dance with me."

She let go, taking his other hand and pulling at him. He looked down at his open palm. A pill had been dropped onto it. He looked up at her. She winked at him. "You'll forget it all."

He wondered how she knew that. He threw the pill back, swallowing.

And he began to soar.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

The club was loud, almost unbearably so. But to Neal, it didn't matter. Whatever she had given him was gold, it gave him a sweet song to sing to and it made all the lights, sounds, colors, people… well, damn it all, if they weren't the most amazing creations of God's own hand. He had forgotten about all the bad, all the ill thoughts he had throughout each and every day. The pain had dissipated, the torturous thoughts had left with his sobriety. It all flew out the window.

He danced with her, smooth. They paired well, their limbs entwining around each other like tangled branches that swirled around just so.

The music pumped through his veins, the colors swirled around him like stained glass contact lenses over his eyes. And then, the room began to spin. Violently so, the room revolved around him, while Neal felt he was spinning in the other direction. He stumbled.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I need, I need to sit down." The panic set in. Whatever it was he had taken, it was no longer treating him well. He felt sick, he felt anxious, he felt like he was drowning. As soon as they entered the back room, Neal sat and held a hand to his head, breathing deeply. "What was that?"

She sat down next to him, a hand trailing soft circles over his back. She whispered in his ear, which he appreciated, because everything was SO DAMN LOUD. "Just X. I'm sorry it fucked you up. Have you ever done it before?"

He shook his head vigorously, then stopped, because damn, did it hurt. She handed him a small, thin pipe. "Here, try this. This will make it better."

When she told him the X would help him forget, it did. Now, he wanted to make it better, so he did what she said. Some part of him was desperate for relief just enough for him to not care. He held the lighter with a shaking hand, and felt the heat warm his fingers. They singed and he pulled away, coughing. "What was that?"

"Doesn't matter. Just relax." The smoke hit his brain and he felt himself melt into the chair, his limbs going limp and his heart slowing down.

"This…. this s'good." A call rang through on his phone. He fumbled with it, nearly dropping it twice before picking up. His other hand was pressed over his ear to drown out the noise. "Yeah."

"Neal, where are you?" Peter's voice sliced the high in half and made Neal's eyes drop shut as he groaned.

"You were supposed to come over. Yeah. I'm sorry. I'm…" He looked around. "I'm out."

"With that girl."

Neal looked around at the people. The drugs. "With some friends."

"I don't trust her, Neal, I strongly suggest you get out of that situation."

"I'll be fine. I can take care of myself." He winced as the last word slipped.

A brief silence, before Peter spoke again. "Are you drunk?"

Neal wished it was that simple. Of course, there was no way to tell Peter he was under the influence of MDMA and God knows whatever the hell was in that pipe. "A little."

"Neal, go home. Get out of this situation, and go home, now."

"I'm allowed to get drunk, Peter."

"Go home. I'll be waiting here for you."

Neal shut the phone, letting it slip from his relaxed fingers and hit the floor. He let his head drop back, the high resting over his shoulders, a heavy, wet blanket that warmed him. "What was that?" he asked her again.

"Doesn't matter. Who was that on the phone?"

"My… a friend."

She sighed, handing him the pipe. "You want some more?"

Neal started to shake his head, then a wave of crashing euphoria came down on him. "Oh, wow."

"Yeah."

The music and the cacophony of sound drowned out into a never-ending, droning hum. The lights dimmed, and his jaw lulled open. The feeling was glorious, it transcended all. Every muscle felt warm, he felt so warm and safe. "What was that?"

She said the word that would change his life forever.

"Heroin."

THE NEXT MORNING

"Where's Neal. Neal?!"

Neal barely managed to stumble into the office, hanging onto whatever he could find to support himself. The night had quickly turned into morning, and he barely had time to make it home to get ready for work. He hadn't slept.

Several more choice drugs were added to the list, anything and everything to make him forget and give him those good feelings back. By the end of the night it had reached MDMA, heroin, cannabis, coke, and booze. And throughout the whole thing, he had never felt so alive.

Yet he knew he couldn't keep doing it. It was a night of hard-partying, the kind kids do, the kind he couldn't let himself get into. He was past that age, he was well past being able to do whatever the fuck he wanted and not have there be consequences. He would just have to let the good feelings go and continue to suffer in silence.

"Neal." Neal glanced up, his tired eyes taking a moment to focus and take in the scene in front of him. Peter, Jones, and Diana all stood in front of him, arms crossed. "You never came home last night," Peter scolded.

Neal cleared his throat, raising eyebrows over tired eyes. "I came home late."

"Were you up all night?"

"Nah, just late," he lied.

Peter studied him for a moment, pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes. He didn't believe the conman, he rarely did, 100 percent. But this was different. This wasn't Neal lying by omission or 'forgetting' to mention a detail about a con he dreamt up to help catch a bad guy. This was intentional obstruction of truth, and for some reason, Neal didn't want Peter to know he was out all night. The thought scared him as he dreamt up all the things Neal could have gotten himself into. The reality of what had happened never even crossed his mind.

Neal sank into the chair at his desk and rubbed at his temple with his fingers, sighing deeply. Peter approached carefully. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Just tired."

"Get any sleep?"

"A little," Neal lied again. Peter sighed, glancing out the window behind Neal, before looking back at his young CI.

"I don't want you going back there, Neal. Not while this case is open. This poses too many risks."

"Okay, Dad."

Peter sighed again. "Conference room, now. Update on the case."

Neal groaned as he lifted himself out of the chair, and headed for the conference room on stiff legs. The team had gathered, as well as Sara, who looked almost as tired as Neal. She had clearly been working hard, and Neal felt shamed as he quickly rehashed his night. He had not been working hard. Not at all.

"We've got a hit on Grant," Peter began.

Lucas Grant was the insurance investigator they were looking into. He worked for Sterling Bosch, hence Sara's presence, and he was suspected of shaking down his suspects by challenging them to poker. They won, he would let them go, forget about their case. They lost, he would repossess their stolen goods AND take their money. The catch was, if they won, he would eventually end up killing them. And that was no good.

"What's the word?" Neal asked. Peter began to speak, but Neal stopped listening. He stared blankly ahead, and the only thing he could think about was when he would see Hadley again. When he would feel those feelings again. Upon realizing the insanity of his thought process, he quickly shook out of it and paid attention again. He looked up, and Peter was looking at him strangely. "What?"

"You still with us?"

Neal cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah. We've confirmed his activity at the club, we're shutting them down, setting up our own. We catch him moving the money and he's good as done."

"That only gets him on the fraud. That doesn't get him for the murders," Diana admitted.

Peter shrugged. "It's the best we can do for now. I'll see you back here in an hour, people." And they dispersed.

By the end of the day, Neal and Peter had worked together on the budget for their club. Peter left to go get it approved by Hughes, and Neal kicked back in his seat, crossing his legs on his desk and shoving his hands in his pockets. He felt something in one pocket, something small, and lifted it out carefully. Upon seeing what it was, he shoved it back in, quickly, looking around, making sure no one had seen. A small pill, wearing a smiley face.

Neal shut his eyes, exhaling slowly. He wanted to disappear for a while. He wanted everything to stop mattering so much. He just wanted to forget.

Peter returned, stopping in front of Neal, who stared blankly ahead. "Neal?" He was cautious when he spoke.

Neal blinked out of it, shaking his head and glancing up at Peter. "Yeah."

"Hughes approved. What's going on? You alright?"

Neal nodded once, looking down, trying to clear his face of emotion, then plastering on a grin before he looked back up. "I'm great."

Peter nodded, slowly. Again, he didn't believe Neal. "Neal, go home. Get some rest. You're not well today."

Normally, Neal would protest, but all he wanted was to leave so he could drown himself in drugs and have a little fun for once. "You're sure, Peter?"

"I'm sure." Peter shifted. "Stay safe," he added as an afterthought. But Neal was already up and walking out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

At home, Neal spent a good amount of time debating on whether or not he could go outagain. The last thing he wanted was to get himself into a situation where he wasn't in control. But a lack of control was beginning to sound more and more like exactly what he needed. Sitting on the sofa, he sipped at a whiskey, just to loosen up while he decided whether or not he was actually going to go out and do this all over again. The main deciding factor was the pill in his pocket. He kept pulling it out, staring at it, and putting it back in again. It haunted him.

The worst part was knowing, deep down, no matter what he told himself, that he was going to do it regardless. Regardless of his common sense, regardless of what Peter told him, regardless of anything, Neal needed those good feelings back, if only for a little while.

He abandoned the whiskey and began to pace his apartment, wondering if there was any way he could warn Peter, let him know somehow that Neal was falling and fast, without straight up telling the man. He didn't have the courage for that. No, no, he would just have to bury it all. He couldn't burden Peter with that, with the knowledge that his C.I. was damaged goods, obsessed with the idea of forgetting the nightmares, forgetting the pain, obsessed with the idea of doing whatever he could to become numb. He held the pill tightly in his pocket, then pulled it out as he approached the balcony to enjoy the skyline for a little while. He studied the skyline, then the pill, then dropped it onto his tongue, quickly swallowing to avoid tasting the monster.

He shoved his keys in his pocket and walked out the door.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I thought you'd come back," Hadley said, giving him the up-down. Neal rolled his eyes, and grabbed her hand, pulling her out onto the dance floor. The colors began to swirl, the bass thumped in time with his rapid heartbeat, and her fingers on his skin tingled. He felt wonderful. He felt so alive. It was the only way he knew how.

Later, in the back, someone offered him a line. Neal knew how it felt, he had tried it a few nights before, and it made him feel invincible. But that wasn't what he was looking for tonight.

He leaned into Hadley, his hand on the small of her back, and his words whispered in her ear as the muffled bass thumped outside. "Got any more of that pipe for me?" She laughed, and procured a pipe from seemingly out of nowhere.

"Go easy on this stuff, it's a monster."

He shrugged, holding the pipe to his lips and taking a deep drag. His body instantly melted, he sank back in the chair, almost falling to the floor, and sighed deeply. Sweet relief. Something in him was perfectly okay with this, this assured destruction of himself, because somewhere inside he knew he deserved it. While it was all fun and games now, he deserved the destruction that would come, the inevitable drowning and falling as he found himself falling deeper and deeper into the drug. He deserved the nightmare he knew it would bring, because while it would never make up for all the pain he had caused others, it would be at least enough to know he was inflicting the same amount of pain and suffering upon himself. He deserved all of it.

In the moment, though, he was free. His eyes drifted shut, his jaw lulled open, and the pain all disappeared. Neal Caffrey entered another world, one where the hurt and the regret and the pain couldn't eat at him, they were all kept at bay as he relaxed into nothingness.

Hadley watched with a morbid curiousness as Neal took another drag. She wondered about this man, about the man in the fine suits from the FBI who seemed so hellbent on getting as far from reality as he could possibly be. What had hurt him so badly that he felt compelled to do this? She could tell, he wasn't this type. She could recognize this type from a mile away. But there was something different about this man, a sadness, a longing, that he couldn't seem to shake. He just wanted to disappear into drugs and numb.

Neal started to fade, truly fade, into nothing... he was about to lose consciousness. Which he greatly appreciated, because he hadn't been able to sleep and was starting to lose it. Hadley watched as he slumped back into the chair, head falling back and eyes drifting between open and closed. She sighed, watching the sad man sleep.

Peter, on the other hand, had no idea where Neal was. He had pounded on his door to find an empty apartment with an empty tumbler of whiskey on the coffee table. He sighed, hands on his hips, and he frowned as he looked around. This wasn't right. Perhaps he was with the little guy, or maybe out at a gallery, or maybe even planning an elaborate and barely legal scheme. He left the apartment at close to 11, and prayed Neal would be at the office on time in the morning.

When Neal finally stumbled home at 3 in the morning, still stoned out of his mind (thanks to the hits he took every time he was conscious enough to) and ready to just crash, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he found Mozzie sleeping on his couch.

"Mozzzzzz... Mozz, get out." Neal attempted to shake Mozzie awake, but couldn't coordinate his limbs to connect a hand to Mozzie's shoulder. He couldn't even see straight. Finally, he just stumbled over to his bed and passed out, resolving to deal with the little guy in the morning.

But when morning came, and Neal woke up at 15 past seven, realizing he had 45 minutes to get to the office, Mozzie was already gone. The only thing that remained of him was a small note on Neal's table. "I know what you're doing, and I don't approve."

Neal sighed, tearing up the note before raking shaking hands through his hair. He climbed into the shower and speed-washed, before heading into the office.

Peter looked angry when Neal arrived. "Where were you last night?"

Neal scoffed. "What, you're stalking me now?"

"Where have you been going?"

"I was with Mozzie, Peter. What's with the third degree?"

Peter stared, pursing his lips for a moment as he just studied his C.I. The man's hair was combed to perfection and his suit was dapper and crisp, but something seemed off about Neal. Perhaps it was a slight glazed-over look in his eyes, or the way the suit was a little too big on Neal's frame. Something like that, but never exactly that... Peter couldn't place it. His worry grew.

"Get ready to go, we're shutting down the club today." Neal swallowed, and Peter could have sworn he saw a brief flash of panic in Neal's eyes, but it disappeared before he could place it. "You... okay?"

"Yeah," Neal said, swallowing again and looking down. "Yeah, I'm fine."

But Peter didn't believe Neal. Not for a second.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

"I think there's something going on with Neal," Peter began, shoveling the turkey chili into his mouth and mumbling between bites. El sipped at her wine and studied her husband.

"What kind of something?"

"He just seems... off. He's been visiting a girl, she runs this club we're trying to shut down. I can easily tell him he's not allowed to visit her because it interferes with the case, but I can't keep treating him like a child."

"If it interferes with the case, then there's not much you can do. Just tell him the truth. He can't keep seeing her."

Peter sighed. His wife was right... she was always right. It was just one of the many things he loved about her. "He's... off."

"You said that."

"He's not all there. He's... there's something missing. He's not himself, something's missing."

"So find it." Peter smiled, looking down at his food.

"I think I will."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Neal woke up a few days later with a pounding headache that shook his skull and sent waves of nausea rippling through him. He brought a hand to his head and attempted to sit up, then immediately fell back down to the bed again, groaning.

"Good. You're awake." Neal jumped up at the voice, despite his body's physical protests, and settled slightly, still shaking, once he saw Mozzie sitting at the table.

"Christ, Mozzie, you trying to kill me?"

Mozzie sighed, swirling a finger over a clean wine glass, just for the enjoyment of the noise it made. "Actually, the exact opposite. Neal, you know you can't keep secrets from me. It doesn't work that way. We... don't work that way."

Neal sighed, crossing the room, hanging onto things as he did for support, and sat down across the table from Mozzie. "I don't know what you're talking about."

But Neal did. He knew exactly what Mozzie was talking about, and the thing that was killing him was trying to figure out how Mozzie knew. He was destroying himself, every time he inhaled, drank, smoked, snorted, or swallowed whatever the hell Hadley put in front of him. The mixture of drugs and drink would relax him, then pump him up, then chill him out, then make him feel invincible. Whatever he needed to feel, he could just switch it on with a pill or a pipe or a puff. It all came so easy now. He was in control, whatever he wanted to feel, he could.

A small part of him, though, deep inside... knew that wasn't what this was. This wasn't control. This was a complete lack, an absence, an abandonment of control. It was him throwing himself out a window and praying a trampoline suddenly appeared underneath. It was a gamble and he was losing.

"You're a con, Neal, not a liar. At least, not to me." Mozzie pulled something from a pocket, and set it on the table. Neal swallowed. "Found this on the floor." A pill. Wearing the smiley face.

Neal shut his eyes. "I made a mistake, it won't happen again."

Mozzie became angry. "Are you a child, now, Neal? Is that what this is, are you doing this to make up for the lost youth you wish you had? You are an adult, Neal, and I can't believe I'm having to remind you of this. It's disappointing."

"Mozzie... You're right. I'm sorry. Really."

"I wish I could believe you."

"Please believe me."

Moz sighed, glancing out the window. "I should tell the Suit about this." He looked back at Neal. "For your own good."

"Mozzie, you can't do that. You know you can't do that or I will lose everything. I will be back behind bars and you know you can't do that to me."

"I just want to do what's best for you, Neal."

"Then let me handle this on my own."

Mozzie didn't know what to do. He knew his friend was struggling, and now he could see that Neal was falling down fast. The worst part was knowing there was little to nothing he could do.

"And you're sure you can handle it?"

Neal sighed, glancing out the window. "I can do my best."

He just had to pray his best was enough.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Get 'em outta here," Peter barked to his agents as they tore the club apart. Neal stood back and watched, and Hadley glared at him from the corner. This would not be forgiven. Neal knew that somewhere along the way this would happen, that their relationship, or at least, the meager beginnings of it, would be torn apart by the FBI and this case. But he hadn't expected it to come so soon. She wasn't the problem, though. He wasn't worried about losing her. He was worried about losing the lifestyle, the one he had, in such a short time, grown attached to.

The lifestyle where he didn't have to worry, he could just live in a world of pretend and hope that he'd make it out alive.

Neal leaned in next to Peter. "How long is she out for?"

"Better part of a month, should be." He glanced over at Neal. "Why?"

Neal shrugged. "Just wondering. When do we set up the new spot?"

"We'll be working on it tomorrow. Neal... I'd like you to be our club-runner."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "Me."

"You."

"You think I'm capable."

"Plenty."

Neal shrugged. "Alright. I'll do it."

Peter grinned. "Good. We'll get started on plans tonight. I need you to work out the budget and get resources allocated by Wednesday."

Neal nodded. "I can do that." He looked over the paperwork Peter shoved into his hands and glanced over the numbers. He could do this. He could do this, easy. He just had to focus. And he had to stay in tonight, and the next night, in order to get this work done. That would be easy.

Wouldn't it?

XXXXXXXXXXX

Neal sat at home, going over the paperwork, a hand to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut. The pounding was endless, the shaking wouldn't stop, the loud, distracting thoughts wouldn't leave him. Physically and emotionally, he was a wreck. And he couldn't focus. He couldn't think straight, because the berating thoughts of self-hate screamed too loudly. He couldn't do his work, because his body had begun to physically betray him, the result of several weeks of the hardest of partying. As though it could be called a party anymore.

Neal would show up, he would get high, on whatever he might be offered that night, and he would disappear for a while. Of course, his physical self was still there, and was more often than not a complete animal on the dance floor, but inside, he was somewhere far away. He had left the building, he had gone in search of happiness... he had found happiness, here in these pills. He had found a way to escape and he wasn't ready to give that up. Not yet.

Yet here he was. He knew this would happen, he couldn't keep going on like this forever...but here he was, needing his mind, and his mind was too preoccupied with the idea of the drugs and how wonderful they felt.

Neal was lost. Already, only a few weeks into this, and he was so lost. He sat back in his seat on the couch and scrubbed his hands over his face. How was he going to make this work?


End file.
